


A Quiet Moment In Yorktown

by skimmy77



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: A conversation with a metaphysical George Kirk, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Star Trek Beyond, Star Trek Beyond Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:19:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmy77/pseuds/skimmy77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after Jim's birthday party. The doubts and questioning Jim had before the first visit to Yorktown haven't gone away. He still feels lost, and those feelings come back after everything calms down. He takes some time to think, and talk to the ghost of his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Moment In Yorktown

**Author's Note:**

> My first Star Trek fic, be kind!

It didn’t take long for Jim to find Yorktown’s version of a dive bar, which was little more than an alcove on the outer edge of the space station. The lights were dim, the activity level low as most citizens slept away in their homes. Jim, on the other hand, was wide awake, nursing his fourth whiskey as he brooded alone. The lone bartender stood near the other end of the bar, beginning the process of closing down. One couple sat behind Jim at a two-top, leaning in close and beaming at each other. He paid them no mind.

Jim tipped his glass back and forth, watching the amber liquor swirl around as his mind wandered. Another year older, another year wiser. At least, that’s how the saying went. He wasn’t sure it was entirely true. It seemed, instead, that the older he got, the less he knew, the more questions that popped up at every corner. He was still lost.

Oh, there was no doubt about continuing the five-year mission as Captain of the Enterprise, on that he was clear. Lives depended on his particular skill to think on his feet, his ability to lead and command a team. It was about the crew, the people, the relationships.

No, the thought that kept haunting his mind was that he had officially lived longer than his father.

He felt directionless. The desire to live up to his father’s legacy was what drove him the last few years. But now, having surpassed him, Jim didn’t know what else to strive for. He thought climbing the ranks of Starfleet would fill that need for purpose, but even when offered the Vice Admiral position, that emptiness in his gut didn’t go away. And while he knew he belonged with his crew, and loved every single one of them, that feeling of confusion remained when he decided to stay.

Confusion was the wrong word. It was more like, in limbo. In suspense. Not yet finished, under construction.

Huh. Much like the Enterprise.

Maybe there was a lesson there. If his previous captaincy was the old Enterprise, then that captaincy was built on a dare, on living up to his father’s legacy, saving lives while sacrificing his own. (Which, come to think of it, he’d already accomplished, quite literally, during the whole Khan debacle.) There was a new Enterprise being built from scratch, with brand new materials and an upgraded design. He needed to do the same.

Jim tossed back the rest of his drink in one swallow and left some credits on the bar. With a little salute to the bartender, he left.

***

The first time they docked in Yorktown, Jim had spotted several places he could use as a thinking spot, a place he could be alone and let his mind roam. One of these places was in the hangar bay, at the end of a high catwalk close to the transparent hull of the space station. If he sat with his back toward space, he could watch the progress of the Enterprise rebuild. If he sat with his back to the Enterprise, he could look out at the vastness of space.

He wanted to look into space tonight.

The gentle hum of machinery and the buzz of station activity lulled Jim into a peaceful trance, settling his thoughts and soothing his heart. He supposed being born in a shuttle and spending his first few days in a metal cocoon left an imprint on his infant senses, equating machinery with comfort. He smiled. Never let it be said that his life was boring.

Jim closed his eyes and sighed. His father had saved his and his mother’s life, along with 800 other men and women, by ordering everyone to abandon ship. He recalled his own moment of doing the same, and he understood exactly what his father would have been feeling, what his father would have been thinking. The resentment he carried in his youth disappeared as soon as he stood in his father’s shoes. If Jim had faced those circumstances, he would have done the same thing.

“I never got to thank you,” he whispered, staring out at the stars. “You put my life before your own, and I never understood what that really meant until now. I was so mad at you for so long. I hated you for leaving me, for leaving Mom, for leaving us to pick up the pieces you left behind. I blamed you for all the bad shit that happened to us, and resented you every time someone looked at me and only thought of you. But I was young, and stupid, and I didn’t know better.

“Thank you, Dad, for showing me what true courage is. For what it means to be a Captain, putting the lives of your crew before your own, doing what is impossible but necessary to save each and every one of them. I hope I’ve made you proud. I think I have. Admiral Pike used to say there’s a lot of you in me. He said I have that same determination to win, to survive, to do whatever it takes to get people to safety, to not just take care of myself, but feel responsible for everyone else. Even if you didn’t raise me, you gave me that, and I’m really grateful.”

He paused, looking down at his hands as he contemplated his next words.

“I don’t know what comes next, Dad,” he said, fixing his eyes on the brightest star in the quadrant. “I feel like I’m on my own. I know I’m not, not really…I have Spock, and Bones, and others…but at the same time, I don’t. One thing I’ve learned about being Captain is that sometimes, it gets really lonely. It’s all on me. They’re all looking at me to lead, and sometimes that’s daunting as hell. How am I supposed to lead them if I don’t know where I’m going? Give me a conflict and I’ll know exactly what to do. But when it’s quiet?” He shook his head. “Am I so fucked up that being in trouble is more comfortable than being at peace? What does that say about me?”

He adjusted his position to lean back on the railing, facing the steel wall in front of him, a place in between the stars and the Enterprise. He felt the weight of his past, of his father, on one side; the Enterprise, and his future, loomed on the other. With a deep breath, he continued speaking.

“I think I have to let go of my past, and that scares the shit out of me. Not just your legacy, but…” He thought of the darkest period of his life, the first time he had to lead, the first life and death crisis that molded him into the man he was today.

Tarsus.

“I don’t even know what letting go of all that looks like. I don’t want to forget, but I can’t keep—“ he lifted a clenching fist, grasping onto nothing, “—letting it have a chokehold on me.” He sighed. “I guess I don’t really know who I am anymore.”

He closed his eyes and fell silent, letting his thoughts drift in and out of his mind without giving voice to them. He focused instead on the vibrations from the railing on his back, and the subtle sounds of hydraulics surrounding his future ship. Sometimes, when he stilled himself, he’d almost hear his father speak to him. Not in an audible voice (Bones would probably commit him if that happened), but something quieter. It was more like a feeling, or a specific thought. This time, it was four little words.

_Find purpose for others._

Jim finally smiled. He understood what that really meant: stop spending so much time in his head, and spend time with his found family. Focus on giving them what they need, and maybe he’d find what he needed for himself.

“I think I can manage that,” he said, turning his gaze to the stars. “We’ve got five, maybe six more months before we ship out again. That’s plenty of time, right?”

There was no answering thought, but Jim didn’t need one. He finally had a direction, and that was enough for him.

He stood with a groan (getting older was starting to suck), and turned toward space to give his father a casual salute. “Thanks, Dad,” he murmured, and headed back towards civilization.


End file.
